Swapping Spit
by Michelle
Summary: Tony manages to end up back in his body first (everyone agreed readily when that was suggested), and within a few minutes, Steve, Bruce, and Thor are right back where they belong. That is the moment, however, that something blows up. Of course.


_A zillion years ago over on tumblr, myinternetaddiction asked if I would write a body swap fic. This is the end result, which helpfully fills the kink bingo prompt, "Mirrors/Doubles"._

_Thanks to euphoricsound for making sure that the pronoun usage didn't get confusing, to eiluned for listening to me gripe about this damn prompt for like, two months, and to the boyfriend for putting up with my crazy, cackling self while I was writing this._

_There's some decidedly odd pronoun usage in here, and I hope that I struck the right note with it! Love to hear what you think!_

* * *

"Keep your hands out of my pants, Stark," Natasha says, or, rather, Natasha says with Clint's mouth. It should be more confusing than it is, but honestly, there's no mistaking the look plastered all over Natasha's face, no matter if she is currently inhabiting his body.

It's kind of hot, actually.

"It's for science! When am I ever going to get another chance at this?" Stark protests. It's eerie the way he imagines Natasha's face with a goatee as Stark speaks.

"Hands. Out. Of. My. Pants. Now," Natasha enunciates threateningly, and Clint can see his . . . her shoulders tense and her fists clench as she takes two steps toward Stark. Though he'd love to see what Natasha could accomplish with his body, he's pretty sure she wants her own back intact at some point, so he reaches out to stop her.

She punches him for his trouble and it _hurts_. Jesus, he's got a mean right hook.

"Sorry, you caught me off guard," she hesitates, not certain who's looking out at her through Bruce's eyes. "Steve?"

Clint shakes his head. "Clint."

She winces, but at least she avoids the obvious joke.

Stark doesn't, of course. "Hey, Barton! Why are you hitting yourself?"

He and Natasha groan.

* * *

It takes three days (three long, sleepless days spent guarding Natasha's body from its current inhabitant), but Bruce and Tony work up a viable solution to the predicament.

Part of the problem, as it turns out, is that they can't all be switched back all at once, but instead must go in pairs (Bruce had muttered something about how they were "unable to replicate the conditions of the original event", but Clint doesn't really believe him. He's pretty sure Bruce is still pissed at him for the time he used an exploding arrow to bring out the Other Guy).

Tony manages to end up back in his body first (everyone agreed readily when that was suggested), and within a few minutes, Steve, Bruce, and Thor are right back where they belong.

That is the moment, however, that something blows up.

Of course.

* * *

They head back to SHIELD together, pretty pissed off by all accounts.

"At least we didn't end up stuck in Thor or Bruce," she says.

She's right, of course, she's always right. He'd been careful to avoid stress for the few days he'd been stuck in Bruce's body, and he can't imagine that being in Thor would have been much better. Well, except maybe for the whole Other Guy thing. In any case, if he was going to end up living out the rest of his days in someone else's body (and if the Super Science Team didn't get a hustle on, he just might), it would be hers.

That, of course, gives him ideas.

He's hesitant to suggest it, but they're adults, albeit adults inhabiting each other's bodies, and it's not like they don't spend at least half of their downtime tangled up in each other anyway.

Like Tony helpfully pointed out, when would they get a chance like this again?

He knows it could be weird though, understands that she might not be into technically having sex with herself (if he's driving her body, as it were, would that make it masturbation?), so he waits until they're back at his quarters, waits until he keys in his passcode and they're safely inside before he lets the thought fully form.

Turns out, Natasha is way ahead of him.

Well at ease in his body after living in it for days, she uses her larger mass to back him up against the door, to press into him, and _oh_, so that's what it feels like when he does this. If he wasn't sure before whether this would turn out to be weirdly fun or just plain weird, well, he's sure now because this is really the strangest, most wonderful thing that has ever happened to him.

She kisses him, and it's _odd_ to be kissed with his own mouth, to feel the chafe of his own day old scruff. His beard scratches him, irritates his skin, but the most important point, really, was that Nat has always sworn up and down that she hates it when that happens. Her body, on the other hand, is telling him a completely different story.

He groans when her hands travel upward to cup his breasts through his shirt, and he can feel it all the way through his body, a ripple of pleasure reverberating up and down his spine, settling somewhere between his thighs.

"Like that?" she asks, and he doesn't even find it weird anymore that she's asking with his voice, that it's his own damn hands on his breasts because it feels so unlike anything he's felt before.

He can't even manage a nod.

"Come on," she says, leading him by hand further into the apartment. He follows, unresisting and feeling rather dazed.

They somehow manage to help each other out of their clothing (the sports bra thing took a little maneuvering, but he couldn't say he blamed her for strapping Tony into one of those things for the duration) and make it over to the bed without stumbling over anything. She pushes him backward, toppling him onto his ass before she crawls in beside him.

"Not too weird, right?" she asks, skimming her hand over his belly and thighs. She doesn't think so, judging from the way her erection presses into his thigh, but they've always been very clear about the boundaries of their relationship, and this, however weird, is part of that.

He shimmies closer to her, runs his fingers through her chest hair and lightly scratches with his nails just the way he likes it, and she practically purrs. He laughs, releasing the throaty noise that Natasha makes whenever she's truly amused at something, and he shocks himself by growing wetter at the sound.

"Weird is good," he says, shrugging it off, and then Natasha pushes him onto his back and crawls down the bed. She spreads his legs, runs her hands up the length of them, and drops down to her belly, propping herself up on her elbows.

Her face settles between his thighs, and it's then that he _knows_ she's been lying about hating the scruffy thing because the stubble feels positively sinful against his inner thighs, and . . .

_Holy fucking shit_

His brain isn't even functioning when her mouth finds his pussy, and her tongue swirls aimless patterns around his clit. He thinks he might buck right out of his skin, and it almost feels like he's already coming. He knows that he hasn't yet, can feel the actual orgasm building up inside of him, and that's even before she slides a few fingers inside of him and pumps. She's done this before, has slid her fingers inside of him, back when he was, well, _him_, but this is different, the parts are different, and he doesn't know how Natasha manages to ever leave her bed.

Then she slides her free hand up his body, the archery-roughened pads of her fingers worrying his nipples, and fuck, he's going to eat her out for a week in gratitude if they ever get back to their old selves.

As it stands, he's perfectly okay staying put.

Natasha does something odd with her tongue, crooks her finger inside of him, and pinches his nipple almost to the point of pain, and then he's coming, really coming, and it's like his entire body is spasming, like there's not enough air to fill his lungs, like the world is exploding and coming apart at the seams.

Well, maybe that's just him.

When he can see straight, he looks down his body to see his own smug face, staring back at him and grinning.

"Jesus, Natasha. Why didn't you say something?"

She just laughs, and the fucking rumble of her voice so close to his center that it makes him squirm.

He's never been a particular fan of the way he looks, but to see Natasha wearing his skin and crawling up his body, her erection bobbing between them, well, it looks like he's going to have to change his mind about that because damn, he can't wait to get that thing inside of him. He hasn't been this fascinated by his own dick since he was a teenager, and he can't help but reach out to grab it, to run his hand along the length. It feels different from this side of things, and he notices Natasha figuring out the same thing even as she somehow remains relatively placid.

She starts to lose her cool when her cock brushes against his opening.

"Fuck!" she shouts, and he doesn't bother to hold back his own laugh this time, knows exactly what it feels like to rub that thing against a woman's wet pussy for the first time.

"I know, sweetheart," he says, comfortingly, then pushes her off, onto her back. "Why don't you let me handle this one?"

He still needs her help though, because taking her inside of him is going to take a serious amount of adjustment. They both have to grit their teeth and take deep breaths at that point, and it takes some mutual coaching to get through the moment.

Eventually though, he's got her cock seated fully inside of him, and he ripples pleasantly around her as he stretches. He's kind of surprised; having a cock buried inside of him feels different than he thought it would. He'd expected some level of discomfort, of course, from the way that Nat cringed and sighed sometimes when they try too much too fast.

No, instead it's the emotional aspect of it that really gets to him. He's experienced some of it from his own end, the feeling of fulfillment, the feeling of being together with somebody who had nowhere better to be than wrapped around him; all of that is there. But it's the sense of being _full, _filled up with Natasha's cock that gets to him, that makes his heart ache even as relaxes.

He's just starting to feel like he can handle this when they begin to move, and then all bets are off.

He understands now, or at least he thinks he does, a little better about the contortions that Natasha makes when she rides him, how the slight difference in angle can make all the difference between exquisite pleasure and skirting the edge of pain. He gets the hang of it though with her guidance, with her hands steering his hips in the right direction until they've found just the right angle, just the right rhythm, and fuck.

Just . . . _fuck_.

He has no words left in him, no sense at all as he feels himself start to coil back up again, feels warmth spreading all over starting from where their bodies join, and he can't really believe that he gets to have another orgasm because the first one was so damn intense.

He's so caught up in the strange feeling that it takes him a few seconds to notice the pained expression Natasha is wearing.

He knows that look, knows exactly how close his body is to orgasm, and he can't imagine Natasha has any idea how to control herself, how to stop herself from coming inside of him right now. He's kind of surprised she's made it this long. But then, it's Nat, and, well, she's really fucking amazing even on her worst day, and this hardly qualifies as that.

He leans back, pulls her testicles away from her body to help her out, but that isn't going to stay an orgasm for long knowing his body as well as he does, so he's grateful that Natasha takes the initiative to rub two of her fingers against his clit. Just when he thinks it can't get any better than riding toward completion with this woman inside of him, he starts to come again, feeling her slip over the edge right behind him.

It's everything and nothing like the first orgasm. He comes longer, harder this time, and he can swear that he sees stars exploding under his eyes.

"Wow," he says when he rolls off her. She tries to follow, to rest her head on his chest like she usually does after a particularly rousing turn between the sheets, but the angles and the sizes are all wrong, and she just ends up sighing with frustration.

"This is not working," she pouts, and her expression is just so _her_ that he wants to wrap her up in his arms and kiss her forehead and make her hot chocolate or whatever sappy shit it is that people are supposed to do when they love someone.

And okay, sure, it's kind of weird to have tender feelings looking into his own eyes, but it's Natasha staring back through them, and there's never been a time when he didn't feel this way about her, so he just goes with it.

"Here, lay back," he says, and he settles into her side, resting his head on her chest and hugging her with his body. It should feel unnatural, but like a lot of things lately, it doesn't. Their bodies know how to react to each other, at least, and finally, they just feel comfortable.

She breaks the silence with, "So, do you think Stark and Banner will have this thing figured out by tomorrow?"

He lifts his head to look at her. "They might. Why?"

She tries to raise an eyebrow, but his face doesn't move that way and she ends up looking vaguely surprised instead.

"Well," she says. "I was thinking that if we only get one night like this . . ."

They grin at each other, on the same wavelength as ever.


End file.
